Chapter Text
It was two days after Voldemort was destroyed, and Harry woke up late in the morning in his Hogwarts dormitory bed feeling dazed and lost, thirst itching at his throat. He felt his forehead for his scar, which was pain-free in a way it hadn't been in years. It was over, it was really over. Maybe he should just stay in bed for another entire day. What was the purpose of his life now, now that there were no more Horcruxes, no Voldemort, no one to run from and no one to hunt down?
He shook himself out of that thought. He should be happy that it was over, that he could focus on... something else. He could try to re-start things with Ginny, he could train to be an Auror...
An image of Fred's frozen laugh on his dead body floated to the surface of Harry's mind, and he rolled over again, folding his pillow over his face. He didn't want to face it, the funerals, the press, the destruction that lay in the wake of the war and the rebuilding of the magical community. He didn't even want to think about catching the remaining Death Eaters that were still on the loose. He had practically slept through the previous day, only getting up to eat a sandwich Kreacher brought him in bed, and falling straight back onto his pillow afterwards.
He heard someone come in, but he didn't move. The footsteps approached his bed and stopped, and suddenly Harry was being shaken, hard.
"Oi!" he yelled, and rolled over, expecting to see Ron or Hermione. Instead he saw Neville.
"Hey," said Neville, grinning. "You slept long enough." Harry raised an eyebrow, and Neville's face suddenly turned serious. "It's, uh, best to get out there now Harry. It'll only be worse the longer you put it off..." he hesitated. "Believe me."
Harry looked at Neville, who had plenty of experience facing constant reminders, through visits with his parents, of the horrors of the first time Voldemort rose to power. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do right now, he sighed and sat up, blinking. He didn't want to know how many were dead, how many others wounded beyond repair. But he'd have to know eventually.
"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he asked. He no longer wanted to be in charge of anything, and wanted to seek out their guidance and company.
"With the Weasleys, they're... planning the funeral," mumbled Neville. "Thought you'd want to be involved." He turned and left the room.
Harry felt a flash of annoyance mixed with gratitude at the realization that none of the Weasleys had tried to wake him for this. He rolled out of bed and started slowly getting dressed, looking out his windows at the blindingly sunny sky. Did the sun really have any business being out on a day like today?
He took several detours through the castle, gathering his thoughts as he made his way slowly to the Great Hall, where he knew they would have gathered. He wandered past the Room of Requirement, which had been destroyed by Fiendfyre, and smelled the burning remnants of its hidden magical objects floating into the hallway... up the staircase towards Ravenclaw tower, sidestepping a deep gash in the staircase that was already magically rebuilding itself...
Harry sighed as he found himself face to face with a pile of rubble, an entire hallway collapsed from spells cast during the final battle against the Death Eaters and the rest of Voldemort's followers. The quickest way around to the Great Hall would be to take the shortcut underground through the dungeons.
As he stepped down off the final step into the lower level near the Slytherin dormitory, suddenly he heard a heated discussion coming from a hallway ahead.
"I'm not leaving! I don't care if they throw me in Azkaban, I'm not going into hiding! I'm going to have a trial, damn it, because I never wanted any of this, and I deserve to go free!" It was Draco Malfoy. Harry donned his invisibility cloak and stopped at the corner to listen.
"We risked our lives, we risked EVERYTHING to keep you safe, Draco!" came Lucius's furious reply. "You know full well that this is why we joined the ranks of the Death Eaters in the first place! It is always safest to be on the side of power, and now that the Dark Lord has fallen, we are no longer on the side of power. You are coming with us."
"Ha!" spat Draco, "Where to, hiding out in the third mansion I never knew we inherited? Spending the rest of my life holed up with you, never accomplishing anything? I'd rather be in Azkaban!"
"Draco, please," urged Narcissa, "Please, I can't let you be in Azkaban, honey it would destroy you... the Dementors..."
"Mother," he replied, and his voice was somewhat softer towards her. "Go into hiding with Dad. I'll take care of myself. They won't give me a life sentence. I never killed anyone without being under the Imperius curse."
"But Draco, if you could just stay with us for a while..."
"WHY did you guys risk everything to keep me safe? So that I can keep being safe all the way into my thirties?" shouted Draco. "What happened to your dreams of me attending wizards' university, getting a position at the Ministry, managing the manor? I'll serve my time and then get out and start over. Unless..." Harry glanced around the corner and saw Draco rounding on his father, staring at him coldly. "... you want all the fame and wealth for yourself? Afraid of being outranked by your son while you go into your hidey-hole?"
Lucius whipped out his wand and pointed it at his son's neck as Narcissa gasped in protest. Draco, wandless, wrenched his mother's wand out of her hand and jabbed it into his father's chin. Harry had absolutely no desire to watch the two Malfoys dueling, so he took off his invisibility cloak and drew his own wand. "Expelliarmus!"
Both wands flew into his left hand, and he pointed all three at the Malfoys. "Slipped out for a chat while everyone else is planning their relatives' funerals, I see?" Harry said. "I'm going up to the Great Hall. You'll all lead the way, if you please." He gestured with the three wands.
Lucius glared at Harry, but Draco only smirked at his father. "No hiding at your mansion in Russia now, father. We're going to have a trial." Lucius smacked him in the face.
Harry sighed and conjured jets of cold water from all three wands, showering down on the Malfoys' heads. "It'll be fire next time if you guys don't get a move on," he called. Narcissa grabbed her husband and son and marched them down towards the Great Hall, glancing back at Harry. He saw only gratitude in her eyes.
The Great Hall was abuzz with chatter - it had become a place to regroup and plan for the future, to mourn and heal. There was a group of Aurors huddled in a corner, conjuring up holographic maps with their wands and strategizing for the remaining captures. McGonagall was speaking to a large group of teachers and Hogwarts staff, including a few ghosts and house-elves, at the Hufflepuff table, and Harry guessed they were discussing the reconstruction of the castle and the new Hogwarts leadership. A group of former ministry officials were arguing at the Ravenclaw table, and behind them at the Slytherin table was a row of tied up, wandless Death Eaters, guarded by Kingsley. His stomach dropped when he saw the Weasley family and Hermione huddled together at the end of the Gryffindor table.
But first things first. Harry ushered the Malfoys over to the Slytherin table where Kingsley stood.
"Ah, thanks Potter, knew we were going to have to round up these three eventually, there were just so many others with higher priority." He bound the Malfoys with one swift wave of his wand and forced them onto the bench, then waved his wand again and a shimmering list of names hovered in the air. He scrolled down through the list quickly and checked off three more names. "Excellent. These..." he gestured to the bench, "are the last batch of Death Eaters remaining on the scene at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts, as it were. There are others abroad, but we'll catch them later."
Kingsley turned to the Malfoys. "Not running for the hills this time, Lucius?" Lucius, whose tongue seemed to be bound as well as his body, growled something incoherent.
As Harry turned to join the Weasleys, Kingsley called after him. "Mr. Potter, would you be available this summer to serve as a witness at our prisoners' trials? We want a fair and just proceedings, and as you were at the center of it all, we feel you may have an abundance of information."
Testifying in court. Of course. Another inevitable post-battle cleanup task he would have to participate in. All he wanted to do was hide away from the world for a good few months, anywhere, even the cupboard under the stairs at Number 4 Privet Drive would do. But the entire Wizarding community was looking towards him for leadership, and he knew he could not refuse.
"Sure, Kingsley. Happy to be there," he replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
He hurried away towards the Weasleys' gathering. Hermione saw him first, and wriggled out from under Ron's arm to hug Harry tightly. "Harry! Glad you're with us," she said, and Harry's exhausted heart seemed to warm slightly as she pulled him into the group. Ron was staring at the ground, tears streaming down his long nose. George was sitting on the bench, pale, earless, and dazed. Mr. Weasley seemed to be leading the discussion, with Mrs. Weasley in one arm and Ginny in the other. Bill, Charlie, and Percy were giving their father their full attention, as if looking to him for some answer or hope that they knew did not exist, as Fleur stood silently, somber, and beautiful at Bill's side.
"... So we'll all go home, send out owls to all the relatives, and George will draw up a list of Fred's friends. We'll hold the funeral on the 16th then, and we'll arrange for him to be buried next to granddad..." Ginny drifted away from her father and towards Harry, and wordlessly took his hand, which he gripped tightly in return, as if it were his only tether to reality.
"... And until then," Mr. Weasley continued, "We will stay together, as a family. No hiding at our jobs, talking with reporters, or chasing down scattered Death Eaters. Family time. That's what's most important right now. We'll play Quidditch and have wizards' chess tournaments, take trips to Diagon Alley together, drink pumpkin juice every day and eat around the dinner table every evening."
"Because," he concluded, "If we drift apart in our grief, then You-Know-Who will have won in the end anyway. This is the final battle - to recognize what we have lost, and then begin to live again, together."
He finished the last words with what seemed to be a great effort, then sat down next to George as Molly broke down in sobs.